Once More, With Feeling
by Sera Saturn
Summary: Max speaks to Nathan in hope of gaining information, only to find herself caught in a precarious situation. Set early in the season. CaulScott.


**Summary:** Max speaks to Nathan in hope of gaining information, only to find herself caught in a precarious situation. Set early in the season. CaulScott.

* * *

**Once More, With Feeling**

Max straightened her shoulders, shrugging off the cold seeping through her jacket.

Despite hearing Trevor and Dana's giggles behind one door, and Warren's old sci-fi movies blasting through another, idling in the boys' dormitories at night filled her with waves of nausea.

_Congratulations, Nathan Prescott,_ she thought, crossing her arms. _You make me sick all the way from another room._

With the full moon shining through the high windows, she found herself studying the bright orb to pass the time. She sighed to herself, glancing at the light pouring beneath Nathan's dorm door. She began to wonder how Chloe talked her into this, only to catch herself in a moment of denial. Max knew they had no other choice – if Chloe was ever within a few feet of Nathan, she would probably maim the boy with pleasure.

_If Chloe had my rewind power, she would hurt Nathan a hundred times over and more._

At the thought of her rewind, she slowly approached his dorm. She couldn't linger any longer.

_Unless I want a major headache, I better man up and knock. Come on, Max._

She held her breath. Her fist hovered an inch away from the door. Before she could move, muffled footsteps quickly approached.

"Who the hell is –" Nathan's voice snarled, the door snapping open. He glared through a narrow gap. "What the fuck, Max?"

She was tempted to retort with an equally polite greeting, but stopped herself. She needed to get this right.

"Uh, Nathan," she said, rubbing her neck. "Can I ... talk to you? I promise I'll be –"

_Slam!_

"Nosy bitch. Who does she think she is?" Nathan murmured, his voice drifting away.

_I'll do you a favour and pretend I didn't hear that, Nathan._

Max lifted her hand, a tight pressure wrapping around her skull. Nathan reappeared at the door for a flash, his reversed words garbled. Each time she used her rewind on Nathan Prescott, she half-expected a satanic message to spur from his lips. The moment she let go, she knocked on his door. This time, he stayed quiet until they came face to face.

"I need to speak to you, Nathan," she said. His narrowed gaze studied her from top to bottom, prompting her to wear her best pleading expression. "It's urgent. Please."

He slightly frowned, but opened the door wider. For a moment she thought he was inviting her in. Then he shut the door behind him and stepped forward, closing in on her.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice low and terse. Max only just suppressed wrinkling her nose; his breath was laden with a strong scent, unfamiliar but distinctly artificial.

She went to speak but lost her ability to, sounding an incoherent noise. She almost thought she had stopped time, judging by his locked jaw and frozen stance. He blinked, and her body flinched.

"Rachel Amber," she blurted.

"Rachel?" Nathan hissed.

_Shit,_ thought Max. His composure changed quickly – like she had struck a hammer to a nerve.

"She was in the Vortex Club. You knew her, didn't you?"

"I thought you said this was urgent," Nathan spat. "Everyone knew Rachel. And you're knocking on my door when it's almost midnight to talk to me? I'd ask if you were high, but I'm not in the mood for a laugh. Get lost."

He turned around to leave. Max grabbed him by the arm.

"Wait. You practically own the Vortex Club. If anyone knows what happened to Rachel, you'd be the first person to know."

"Watch yourself, Max," Nathan said through shaky breaths. In one motion, he pinned her to the door, his fingers clawing deep into her shoulders. The tip of his nose touched hers. She looked downwards to escape his stare. "You don't know anything about me and Rachel. Not you – not them – not anyone!"

"Get off of me!"

She kicked him in the shin, freeing his grip on her. He cursed, but scrambled to trap her once more, honing in on her smaller frame. Max raised her hands to shield her face. Her nails scraped against his throat.

"You bitch," Nathan winced. She uncovered her face to see him pressing the side of his neck and stumbling back.

Heart thudding in her chest, Max lifted her hand and narrowed her eyes. That familiar pressure pounded at her head. It seemed to go on forever – watching her previous self being cornered by Nathan, both of their expressions growing less intense. She released her grip on the air, leaning her hands against her knees. Breathe, she told herself. Her lungs heaved. Cold sweat gathered on her forehead. When she noticed the crimson beneath her cuticles, she hastily withdrew her hands, her stomach bubbling. She hurried to the bathroom.

_Gross,_ she thought, vigorously scrubbing her nails. The water poured a diluted red, leaving Max to ponder just how deeply she had scratched Nathan. _Taking that Nathan's blood to this timeline is so not creepy. Imagine leaving him a message in his own blood ... no, Max. That's serial-killer-level creepiness._

She thought about leaving, but she knew Chloe was counting on her. After drying her hands, she returned to the dorm hall, not exactly raring to speak to Nathan. It was difficult to separate what he had done in an alternate timeline, because it was still him and not some bizarro version that had attacked her. This Nathan still possessed the capacity to hurt.

_Rachel Amber's a sore subject. I need to find another way in before he shuts me down._

For the third time, she knocked. Her jaw was still tense, so she forced herself to relax her features, wearing a slight smile.

"Hi, Nathan," she said. "I know this seems kind of odd, but I was hoping you could help me. It's – uh, photography related."

Nathan huffed, raising an eyebrow. "And why would I help you?"

Max shifted her feet against the carpet. "I know. I haven't been the best at minding my own business. That's why if you help me ... I promise to take back everything I've ever said about you."

"Even what you told the principal?"

"Especially what I told the principal."

She almost felt bad, knowing she'd just rewind once she had what she needed. Almost, but not quite.

He slowly studied her, gauging her expression. "Fine. ... What, you wanted help with photography or some shit? You, the Jefferson groupie, are asking me?"

"Actually, Mr Jefferson told me you were one of the best photographers at Blackwell. He's not the type to lie, right?"

It was interesting seeing Nathan's eyes brighten, even if it only lasted for a second. He opened the door wider and stepped aside.

"Make it quick," he said.

Max blinked, staring blankly at the gap he had left for her. She hesitated forward, feeling his glare pierce into her back. The door closed with a click.

_No way,_ she thought, glancing around his room. _That was too easy. I guess Nathan's really into his photography._

Two things stood out about her surroundings; one, there were probably thousands of dollars worth of equipment, from a film projector to ultra-expensive cameras – and two, Nathan's taste in decor was more than unsettling. Posters of girls wrapped in leather straps ... framed images of distressed faces, eyes bulging wide. She wondered how he slept at night.

It was when she sat on the edge of the couch, that her focus settled on something that irked her.

"What...?" she said, her mouth parting open. "You stole one of my selfies?"

On the wall beside his bed was a familiar polaroid of her smiling in a red shirt. She sent an accusatory glare Nathan's way, noting how quickly his cheeks flushed. He clenched his fists.

"Get out of here," he said through gritted teeth. "Now."

"Why do you even...?"

She swallowed her words when Nathan stomped towards her.

_Damn. Time to rewind._

She lifted her hand, reversing until Nathan just closed the entrance.

_Also time to pretend I never saw that selfie ... however the hell it got here._

Max angled her head away from the photo and gripped her hands together. She wanted to ponder more about the existence of that selfie, but needed to carry on.

"Talk," said Nathan. He crossed his arms and peered down at her.

"It's kind of stupid, really," Max started, chewing her lip. "It's the Everyday Heroes Contest. Mr Jefferson keeps on telling me to enter ... but I can't even think of what to shoot."

"I'm not your slave, Max. Don't even think about it."

"No, I – I'd never use someone else's work. I guess I'm just ... uninspired. The moment I try to think of an idea, my mind goes blank. I wanted to ask you for some suggestions. But if you don't feel like talking, maybe I could take a gander at some of your photos?"

"Gander?" he scoffed. "Whatever."

He brushed past her and crouched down, sliding out a large box from beneath the couch. Max raised her eyebrows – there must have been at least a dozen albums lined up. Nathan scanned the spine of each one. He selected the album marked with the earliest date, _2012 December._

_He doesn't want to show off his latest and greatest? Man ... I can't even look at my day-old photos without cringing. Amateur hour. But Nathan must feel differently about his work. I bet it'd be relaxing to think like that for a change._

The couch shifted. Nathan sat beside her, keeping a firm grip on the album.

"Keep your hands to yourself," he said. He sat the folder on his lap, forcing Max to crane her neck closer to gain a better view. She felt a bit awkward practically breathing over his shoulder.

He turned to the first page, featuring vistas of Arcadia Bay during a sunset. The vivid gradients of orange and pink caught Max off-guard; what little she had seen of Nathan's work had always been grim images in black and white. I'm guessing his style isn't the only thing that's changed.

It took Max a while to realise she'd been staring in silence. Nathan cleared his throat.

"Oh. It looks ..." _I can't say romantic, even if it's true._ "It looks great," she finished lamely.

"Really, uh ..."

Nathan sharply turned to her, his elbow brushing against her hip. "What the hell are you doing?"

"W-What do you mean?"

"You're acting fucking strange." He slammed the album shut. "I get it. Don't take me for a dumbass, Caulfield. I knew you weren't interested in this. You're just looking for an excuse to pry through my shit."

"Do I look like I'm prying through your shit?" Max retorted, unable to help herself. "Not everything the Prescott's touch is gold – in fact, you're right. Most of it is shit."

"You've got some serious balls, Max. Do you realise what I could do to you? Do you know –"

"Oh, I know," she murmured, raising her hand.

_How do time-travellers tolerate so much bullshit?_ she thought, rewinding until Nathan opened the album. _Doctor Who never had to deal with Nathan Prescott for a companion. Because being a Time Lord would solve my problems ... if anything, that would bring on the tornado, pronto._

Once again, Nathan opened the folder. Max made sure to sound certain.

"Hey," she said, softening her tone. "That's a pretty cool shot. Who knew Arcadia Bay could look so ..."

"Less shitty?"

The corners of her mouth twitched up. "I was going to say romantic. But less shitty is right."

Nathan lifted his head and glanced in her direction, his eyes flickering between her and the photo. He looked on the verge of saying something, but swallowed instead. He turned the page over.

"Wow," Max said. She shifted closer to point to the middle photo, her arm brushing against his. "You seriously nailed the angle on that one. The forest looks endless, but golden and bright. So ... warm."

"And predictable," Nathan snorted, his voice wavering.

"Not at all. My forest shots look like stills from crappy Bigfoot footage, all generic and dark. But you've captured the atmosphere. That's more than I could ever accomplish."

He shook his head. "I've seen your work. Selfies don't have a helluva lot of atmosphere, but yours manage it."

Max blinked. _Did Nathan Prescott just compliment me? I could rewind to double-check ... but better not to take any chances._

Her cheeks warmed up. "Thanks."

Nathan shrugged, waving her off. He had yet to look at her for a while – not since she had given her thoughts on the first photo. Hand quivering by the slightest, he turned the page. Max had to squint to focus on the image. It looked like the beginning of Nathan's black and white phase – a dark photo of a window, framing the silhouette of a man.

"I know," Nathan said. "The contrast is complete shit."

"It's not shit ... it's just not really present," Max admitted. "But I like how you framed the silhouette. It's almost like a shadow. Like he's not really present, either. See, it seems intentional now, doesn't it?"

"Tch. I have no damn clue why you need my help." His tone was light at first, but drifted lower. "You clearly know your stuff."

He lifted his chin to look up at her, his face touched by the slightest hint of red. _We must look like a couple of lobsters,_ Max thought, feeling her skin heat up again. _Jesus, Max._

She shook her head. She hoped he hadn't noticed her blush. "Anyone can learn the basics of photography. It takes a whole lot more to tell a story, like drive and motivation. A desperate need to show something to the world."

"Well just remember that," Nathan replied. "You'll be able to photograph anything."

Max's breath hitched in her throat. For the umpteenth time, she wondered if she had tripped into an alternate universe on her way into his dorm. Her gaze drifted below his blue eyes, towards his slightly parted lips. She wanted to reaffirm those words had passed from his mouth. He had never sounded so ... so …

_Human doesn't sound right. Yet it's the only way he sounded. Human. And unlike Nathan_ _Prescott._

She caught herself staring for too long. For a moment, she thought he was mirroring her expression, when abruptly, he coughed and returned to studying his collection of photos. She chewed her lip.

_I have this feeling. It could have been my imagination ... but why would I imagine it?_

With reluctance, she carefully lifted her arm, grasping at the air with half-curled fingers.

_My rewind lets me take chances, so why not?_

"You'll be able to photograph anything," Nathan said once more. The same sound filled her ears; the same softness and air of reassurance. He seemed foreign in the way he peered up at her, like a timid creature seeking something. She just wasn't sure of what.

Max waited for it. The momentary lapse between them. The flicker of doubt showing beneath the cracks. His eyes traced down her face, faltering with each movement. Then he paused at her lips.

She closed the space between them, catching his bottom lip between her mouth. Her hesitance showed in her stillness, but she slowly yet surely pressed harder. Her heart pounded in her chest; she had never felt so terrified and elated at once. Her fear melted away as he pressed further, his tongue grazing her upper lip. It was when her shaking hands brushed his neck, that a low growl escaped his throat. Her eyes snapped open as she felt him rip away.

"Wh... what the hell are you doing?!" he hissed, stumbling backwards.

"I – I'm sorry," Max stuttered. "I just thought that you –"

"Don't touch me. Don't ..."

She swallowed, taking in his shrinking form – chest heaving, shuddery exhales, and a look in his widened blue eyes she could only describe as accusing.

"I'm sorry, Nathan."

She lifted her hand and squeezed the air. She had wanted to run away or at least stand up, but she needed to stay put to rewind. As her surroundings flashed, she wished she could rewind forever, caught in this hazy limbo that allowed her time to think.

She released her grip a bit earlier than she had intended. Early enough to hear his supportive sentiment echo for the third time, and witness that peculiar meekness in his expression. She couldn't comprehend what she had done to him; why he had reacted as if she had scalded him.

_What if I just acted too suddenly? Maybe I caught him off guard._

"Nathan, I ..." she began, toying her hands together. "Thank you. Sometimes it feels impossible to do anything at all, but you remind me of ... of possibilities. I know that sounds weird, but –"

He shook his head, his features relaxing. "I get it. Sometimes you just need something to break the monotony."

"Or ... someone."

This time, she slowly leant forward, tilting her head to the side. Her knee bumped against his as she inched closer, a paper-thin gap between them. She waited for him to back away or curse her out, but there was nothing. He was as frozen as her. And she wouldn't move – not until he did.

Nathan gave a tremulous breath that tickled the back of Max's throat. Max didn't know if it was her imagination spurring a barely audible _thud, thud,_ out of sync and more rapid than her own heartbeat. Just as she wondered whether they had frozen in time, she heard the photo album fall to the ground as he shifted forward.

He pressed his lips to hers. Her nerves melted away upon feeling his reluctance. She returned his grip on her waist by wrapping her arms around his neck and sliding her fingers through his hair. He was warm – nearly overheating – his mouth ablaze with each little press and suck. He leant back, drawing Max onto his lap. As her thumbs swept over his jawline, tracing back and forth, something hard prodded at her thigh.

She gasped.

"Damn," Nathan groaned into her mouth. She took that as a sign to keep going, but shifted her weight aside to avoid discomforting him, capturing his lips with another kiss. "Dammit, Max –"

He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away.

Max heavily panted, catching her breath as Nathan scrambled to his feet, watching her with the very same wide-eyed expression he held the first time she kissed him.

She stood, weakened legs nearing him. "Nathan –"

"S-Stop," he breathed. Clenched fists grabbing his hair, his face paled. "I see what you're doing. I see it."

"What? What're you –"

"You're tricking me. Trying to weasel your way in by kissing me."

"You kissed me first," she retorted. Despite her assertion, a flicker of guilt echoed in her head. At his increasingly distressed state – him pacing back and forth, his panicked and uneven breaths – her stomach twinged. "But I – I'm not tricking you –"

"Then why the fuck would you do that?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "You hate my guts, Max."

"That's not true –"

"You do. I've heard the things you say about me. The way you judge me ... the way you think you're above me. Every day I see you on campus, and you can't even look at me for one second. Every. Fucking. Day."

She tried swallowing the dryness from her throat, but it only worsened the sensation.

"Do you know how it feels?" he choked. "To be so goddamn fucked up that Max Caulfield would rather pretend that I'm dead?"

Each word pierced her harder and harder. Even now, she struggled to look at him – even if it was for a different reason. She clutched her chest as her eyes prickled.

"I–I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's beyond fucked up. ... But I'm here now, and I can –"

"You can leave."

"Nathan, please –"

"Now."

It frightened her how calm he sounded. She rubbed her eyes, looking between the door and the couch.

_We've each done our part in treating each other like this ... but I can't leave him. Not like this._

She planted herself back onto the couch and clutched at the air. She yearned to close her eyes – to shut out his tortured form from her memory and to abandon knowing she had made him feel this way, unknowingly or not. She almost couldn't believe the sights unravelling before her – between Nathan crying at her and kissing her, she wasn't sure what made her heart ache more. Studying the blurriness around her, she waited until Nathan looked his most amicable before letting go.

"I get it," he said, shaking his head with a faint smile. "Sometimes you just need something to break the monotony."

Max inwardly cursed at herself. Her eyes were still damp, and she could feel the shakiness harbouring in her throat. Nathan noticed her silence, peering up and frowning.

"What is it?" His gaze traced down her face, following her drying tears. "You're crying –"

She wanted to reach forward and clutch his hand between hers, but she couldn't dare herself to touch him.

"I'm sorry, Nathan. There's nothing I can do to change what I've done – not that far. All I can do is apologise. I'm truly sorry for everything. And I ... I ..."

Her shoulders slouched while her head fell down. With her throat swelling up again, she struggled to form words. She wasn't sure what came over her. All she knew was that she wanted to leave – now – and without hesitation, she leapt to her feet, the exit firmly in her sights.

Warmth snapped around her wrist. Her vision clouded in a damp daze, she twisted around to face the source of her paralysis. Nathan pulled her closer. Max gulped. He leant closer and placed a kiss against the corner of her mouth. No longer possessing the same boldness as before, she remained as still as possible.

She waited for him to give up; become frustrated at her rigidness. He kissed her again. Once, twice; it was during the third time that she finally allowed herself to react, cupping his cheek and pressing her lips against his. His arms slipped around her waist, her camera bag slipping off her shoulder and falling aside. He shifted backwards, pulling Max onto the bed.

His hands travelled up the small of her back, grazing over her bra strap. She heard him grumble under his breath, and suddenly stiffen.

"Shit," he groaned into her neck. "Max, I don't ..."

He visibly gulped. She was unsure of what he wanted to say – she only knew from his rough voice and pained expression that he was uncomfortable. She went to sit up.

"It's okay," she assured him. "I can leave –"

"No," he breathed, grasping her arm. "Stay."

She allowed herself to be pulled into his arms in a deathly tight embrace. He buried his mouth into the crook of her neck and breathed deeply, as though savouring her scent.

She inhaled. His scent filled her lungs – a distinct masculinity which hummed against the back of her throat. Her head felt laced with a tingling sensation that travelled down to her fingers and toes.

Max didn't sleep that night. It was peculiar, yet comforting, lying in Nathan Prescott's arms. He grazed her neck and cheek with kisses, which she shyly returned on occasion. He became more and more gentle, the kisses lessening as time wore on. Soon enough, he had drifted off to sleep, his nose buried in her hair.

_I wish I could've slept,_ she thought, noticing the sun peeking from the horizon. She gently squeezed Nathan's hand. _Helluva lot easier said than done._

She carefully removed herself from Nathan's arms. She needed to leave while she had the opportunity. But she couldn't bring herself to leave him empty-handed.

Max propped herself at his desk and spent the next half hour pulling out scraps of notebook paper and attempting to write a note. She juggled between the underwhelming _Last night was nice,_ let's talk again, or the desperate-sounding _I need to see you again._ She couldn't deny the latter had an ounce of truth to it – she didn't want to forget what happened. If only she could understand what had happened. A few arguments and make-out sessions somehow evolved into laying on Nathan Prescott's bed, within the arms of said Prescott.

She arrived with the goal of finding information on Rachel Amber. She left with something else entirely.

_But … at least this wasn't in vain._

She had avoided checking her phone for hours. She knew she couldn't keep a secret from Chloe, but the idea – the mere thought of telling her best friend what had transpired – had her on the verge of panicking.

_That's a story for another day, Chloe. Just not today._

With the morning light slowly rolling in, and Nathan's snores lightening, Max took that as her cue to leave. She folded the letter shut and tentatively placed it on Nathan's bedside table. It felt almost criminal to leave him as he lay so peacefully, his features relaxed and carefree. But there was no better time to leave.

_It's now or never. Say your goodbyes, Max._

She bent down and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, echoing the sentiment she had written.

"Thank you, Nathan."

She gathered her bag and gently closed the door behind her.

"Thank you, Max."

* * *

**A/N:** I first wrote this maybe three or four years ago. I'm still happy with it years onwards, it just needed a little bit of finishing up towards the end. I adore this pairing, there's something so oddly innocent about it. This is also my first one-shot, so let me know your thoughts! I also had a few formatting issues (missing italics, paragraphs where they shouldn't be), so let me know if anything seems off. Thank you for reading!


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